


The Rhythm of You

by FairyLights101



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Music, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, not between main characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-11-02 15:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: In the four years since he's seen Oikawa, Kageyama has changed a lot. Transferred to a new school, found a new boyfriend, started training kids and playing more instruments. But it's only when he sees Oikawa again that he realizes how much the rhythm has changed - in Oikawa and himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oikage Week Day 1 - "I never know how much of what I say is true" - Midler

Kageyama pulled his coffee mug closer, eyes narrowed at the book in front of him. It was something for his literature class, an elective he’d only taken so he could meet the minimum hours requirement. As it was, it was a pain to say the least. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as he hunched further over the table. 

The noises of the café were dull, drowned out by soft classical music that caught at the edges of his attention, left his fingers tapping at the tabletop in tune to the beats. He smiled. The book his professor had given him to read was one of the better ones thankfully - Shakespeare, so it was hard to understand, but the words were lyrical, rising and falling, a steady tempo to them that left Kageyama blistering through the pages, even if he did have to reread the scenes a few times before he  _ truly _ understood what they meant.  _ Better than that other shit we’ve been reading.  _

The shop bells rang. His eyes flicked up, flitted over the newcomer, and settled back down onto his book. They snapped back up. 

Artfully tousled brown hair, a regal nose, bright, fake smile, warm brown eyes, all painfully  _ familiar.  _ Oikawa Tooru strode in, carried in by that ease and grace that had buoyed him through middle school, bled into high school, and left eyes tracking him, drawn by the elegance, by the confidence he commanded, even when it was anything but real. It had been a thing of beauty and wonder then, back when he was young and unaware, just as it was now, and Kageyama’s fingers fell still on the table, throat working slowly as he watched Oikawa stride up to the counter and flash the barista a grin. The man behind the counter flushed slightly, said something, and Oikawa rattled off his order, the barista nodding eagerly, eyes flicking across Oikawa’s form. The man seemed aware of it, because he leaned against the counter, a teasing lilt occupying the parts of his face Kageyama could see, and his head snapped away. 

_ Stop looking. It’s just creepy.  _

But he found his eyes drawn back, an inescapable flame, and he let himself be pulled back, curious. Oikawa and peeled himself from the counter and shifted out of the way, poking through the bags of coffee beans and pastries further down the display. His back straightened. Head rose. Eyes flicked around - landed on Kageyama. 

It was almost comical how slowly his eyes widened, how his face went through a flurry of emotions too fast, too complex for Kageyama to distinguish before a smile spread across his lips, achingly familiar. Kageyama’s hand went tight on his lap as he waved. Oikawa pointed, one slender finger directed to the empty seat across from Kageyama. 

He shrugged. 

Oikawa rolled his eyes, gathered his things, and strode over, sank into the seat almost like he owned the place. “Tobio-chan,” he grinned, “It's a surprise to see you here. What brings you to this providence?”

Kageyama raised his book so Oikawa could see the cover. “College. I'm studying music.” 

Oikawa's brow furrowed as he leaned forward, carefully peeling the wrapper from his muffin. “Did Tokyo not work out?” 

Kageyama grimaced, shoulders shifting in a shrug as he fidgeted with his book, fingers whispering along the pages. “Yeah. It didn't.” Not after everything that had happened there. Leaving had been a good choice, had made things infinitely easier on himself. The tuition was more, but it was worth it. 

Oikawa's eyes softened, shifting away awkwardly as he spun the muffin. “I'm sorry… I know you really liked that school.” 

_ Because you showed it to me, helped me apply, and when I got in you kiss-  _ He clamped down on that, swallowing thickly as he shrugged. “It's okay. It's better that I left.” 

Oikawa smiled softly. “I'm glad then. You do what you need to so you can be happy. Speaking of which… how are you? How are things?” 

“Are you asking that because you haven't messaged me once in the last two years?” 

Oikawa's lips pursed, twisted into a wry smile, and he nodded. “That's my fault. I'm an asshole. I just… things got really crazy.” 

Kageyama hummed. His fingers twitched on his book, picking up a tune from one of the recent pieces he’d learned - Handel’s “Sarabande”. Oikawa’s eyes flicked to his hand, but he didn’t question, didn’t need to. They’d learned each other’s ticks years before, had memorized one another back to front when they’d been close, so beautifully, painfully close before they’d blown themselves apart. He glanced away, fidgeted with his cup, eyes flickering across Oikawa’s hands as they picked apart his muffin. “I’m playing with the college team. Starting setter.” 

“Fuck I hope so since you’re a senior - you are a senior this year, yeah?” 

Kageyama nodded. “Yeah. We’re not the greatest, but I like the team. Ah… the program is nice too. A lot of good professors.” 

“That’s good!” Oikawa chirped, hands flourishing as he set his cup down. “Shitty professors are the  _ bane _ of school - thank fuck I’m out though. But do you have anything else going on? Job? Friends? Been back to Karasuno?” 

Kageyama ran his tongue along his teeth, shyly glanced up at Oikawa before he nodded. “Yeah. I get paid to teach kids how to play volleyball between class and practice. They’re… nice. I made a few friends. Got a boyfriend. Go back to Miyagi sometimes to see the team.” 

Oikawa’s brows arched up, surprise flickering across his face as his mouth formed a soft ‘O’, then closed again, head tipping to the side. “A boyfriend? Really?” 

He sounded strange, but Kageyama pushed that aside, nodded as he turned his cup, still half-filled with coffee that was surely cold by now. He eyed Oikawa’s food, the muffin half-eaten and abandoned, the coffee cup cradled between his hands, fingers twitching nervously. “Mhm… he’s in the Master’s program. A year above me. Same program.” That was how they’d met, a shared class where Aiden, a handsome man from America, had set his things down beside Kageyama and started chatting his ears off. He hadn’t been turned off by the clipped responses, by the awkward silences that Kageyama left between them far too frequently. Things had been-  _ were _ nice. 

Oikawa smiled, thinner than normal, one finger tracing the rim of his cup. “What’s he like? Name? That stuff. Tell me what you want - but don’t skimp on the details!” 

Kageyama dragged his hand along his neck, shrugged. “I…” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes, leaning forward a little as he smiled, maybe a little tight as he shook his head. “Okay, how’d you two meet?” 

“In class.” 

“What’s he look like?” 

“Um… blond, shorter than me - he used to play basketball.” 

Oikawa’s eyes lit up as he nodded. “What’s he like? Surely my Tobio-chan found someone nice.” 

Kageyama felt his chest hitch once, twice, stuttering over the words.  _ My Tobio-chan. Someone nice.  _ He bit his tongue, glanced away as his fingers started up a fresh rhythm.  _ Nice.  _ Aiden could be nice -  _ was  _ nice. Not as much as he had been in the beginning. Maybe not with all the drinking. But- 

“I like him,” he said after a moment, a careful non-answer that left him biting his tongue, had Oikawa narrowing his eyes before he leaned back, that intense stare leaving Kageyama so he could relax, a silent breath shuddering out of him. “That’s all good, Tobio-chan. I’ve been working here between seasons with my team. Business degree that hardly gets used, but still. Our team is doing well, we’ve won a lot of games and nearly made it to the final rounds in the tournament last year, but we’re aiming to take the title this year.” 

“That’s good.” Oikawa grinned, winked at him, and Kageyama’s hands curled tight on the table, the music faltering, the world halting as he stared at Oikawa. 

Truly, not much had changed in the four years since they’d last seen, and yet things had. Their dynamic had changed. Even Kageyama could see that. They were more uncertain around one another, less sure of what was alright, where their lines lay. After everything, it wasn’t terribly surprising, but it still left things awkward, stilted - left him yearning to close the distance and take that familiar hand, even though the consequences and possibilities that warned against that. He kept his hands to himself. Tapped his fingers against the table. 

“How’s your music going?” 

Kageyama straightened up, a tiny smile flickering to life as he curled his hands closer, fingers fluttering together as he glanced up at Oikawa. “It’s going great. My tutor says my piano has come a long way. I picked up the viola and cello - I think I’ll do the base cello next. The violin is still my favorite, but… My professors have been asking me to try other instruments too. I tried the saxophone. It’s okay. Strings are still the easiest though.” 

Oikawa smiled, shook his head. “Of course they are. You've been playing them since you were what, five?” 

Kageyama swallowed thickly, eyes flickering to Oikawa's face before they darted away.  _ Aiden can't even remember that.  _ But it didn't matter -  _ shouldn't  _ matter, because Aiden wasn't Oikawa, and  _ Aiden  _ was the one he was with, the one he'd signed himself over to. 

“Remember that song you wrote for me?” 

Kageyama's eyes snapped up, body locking up as he stared at Oikawa, stiff. Those brown irises lingered on him for a moment before they slipped away, turned to the street outside the window. “I still have the recording you made me. It's beautiful, you know? Really helps me sleep on those long nights.” 

“I'm glad.” His mouth was dry, throat barely cooperating, and it was all he could do to choke that out as Oikawa smiled, fond and familiar as he twirled a finger through his thick hair. “Sorry, I know that must be a little weird. Even weirder maybe, because I have all the recordings of your music… There's just… Something to it. It's beautiful.” 

Kageyama bowed his head to glare at his books, fighting his cheeks to stay cool, his hands to not fidget. They fell into a painfully familiar rhythm anyways, and he saw Oikawa’s gaze drop, watching those hands follow a beat they both knew intimately - as they should. He’d written that song for Oikawa after all. 

“Still remember it, huh?” 

Kageyama glanced away, heat rising to his cheeks - but his hand didn’t stop. 

“Do you still play it?” 

“Sometimes.”  _ When I miss you. When I’m hurting. When I’m scared.  _ “I auditioned to a couple of places with it. They really liked it. But… it’s still lacking something.” 

Oikawa’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?” 

Kageyama narrowed his eyes, his other hand rising to stir the air as if that could collect his thoughts, his words, and string them along into an order that made sense. “There’s… it needs to have an accompaniment. Something to go with it, make it more… complete.” 

Oikawa stared at him, then smiled after a moment. “I think I might know what you mean. Have you started working on something?” 

_ I did.  _ Back four years ago when they’d broken up, when he’d been left sitting on the floor of his dorm staring blankly at the door for hours, so certain that Oikawa would come back in and pull him close, say it was a cruel joke and it wouldn’t happen again. It had been well into the night before he’d risen and scribble out four pages of music before he’d collapsed at his desk, slept through the day, and woken to tear-smeared pages beneath him. He’d started it, but in the same breath he’d ruined it. Hadn’t even completed it. It hurt just a little too much. 

Kageyama shrugged. Oikawa, ever observant, took that, and Kageyama felt a relieved breath shudder out. Oikawa had always been good about that, about pushing just enough to breach on what wasn’t okay, but back off before it grew to be too much. It left the silence awkward, stilted, before Kageyama’s fingers  _ finally _ stopped their incessant tapping so he could clench them tight, fight off a fresh wave. 

“How about you? Are you still painting and stuff?” 

Oikawa’s eyebrows arched up, a hesitant smile stretching across his face before he leaned back forward, his food and drink seemingly officially abandoned. “Well, I managed to sell a few pieces. I’ve been doing commission work mostly, but it’s not too bad on the side. I like it, and it gives me a little extra cash. I really got into digital recently, but painting is still my favorite. Oh, and I picked up photography. I have a page now! I have text- ah…” 

Kageyama smiled faintly. “You can. It’s the same number still.” 

Oikawa’s eyes lit up, hand falling to his lap and whipping out his phone, enclosed in a neon green case with a gray alien head on it, right beneath the camera. His fingers tapped furiously, and by the time he set his phone down Kageyama’s was lighting up with a text. He stared at it, surprised for a moment, before he looked back to Oikawa. “You still have my number?” 

Oikawa flushed and shook his head. “No! I, ah… I still have your number memorized.” 

Kageyama snorted, shook his head, but he didn’t say anything - definitely ignored the way that made his heart flutter, irrational, ridiculous, and he sighed softly. “Just send me your site later, okay? I’ll check it out after practice with the kids.” 

Oikawa’s head cocked to the side. “Kids? Is Tobio-chan training the youth now?” 

Kageyama flipped the other man off, which only made him burst into giggles, bright and easy, and Kageyama was left reeling, trying to regain his footing as he nodded, almost to himself. “Ah… yeah. I’m teaching kids. A children’s league. They’re… they’re pretty good.” 

Oikawa grinned. “Good. Learning from a genius like you is a great thing.” 

“Still with the ‘genius’ thing?” 

“Of course, Tobio-chan! You  _ are _ a genius.” Kageyama kicked him underneath the table and Oikawa winced, but that couldn’t wipe the cheeky grin from his lips. “What can I say? You’ll always be my little underclassman.” 

“At least you got past the inferiority complex?” 

Oikawa tossed a scowl at him, head jerking up so he could glare down at Kageyama for a moment before he gave up with a shrug and a tiny smile. “You’re right. It took a lot, but…” He shrugged, glanced back outside the window, then down to his phone. “Ah fuck… I have work in ten minutes. Hey, I… if you’re serious, I’d really like to start talking with you again. I do miss you. Being friends with you.” 

It was stilted, more than Kageyama was used to coming from Oikawa, but it only took a minute for him to smile faintly and nod. “Yeah. That’s fine.” 

Oikawa’s eyes lit up, a radiant smile spreading across his face as he gathered his things. “Thanks, Tobio-chan. Really, it was great seeing you. I’ll see you soon maybe?” 

Kageyama nodded. “If you’d like.” Oikawa’s face scrunched up, the smile bright, easy, and with a little wiggle of his fingers he left, leaving Kageyama reeling, eyes wide as he stared at the now-empty space before him.  _ He always leaves so quickly.  _ Entering and leaving in a flash, a whirlwind of beauty and ease that no one man should have been able to possess. And yet Oikawa did.  _ Fucking hell.  _

Kageyama ran his hands down his face, shook his head, and took a deep breath. His chest fell all sorts of wrong, and when his hands found the table, an all-too familiar tune resettled into his fingers, the waltzing through his veins, leaving him spinning in a fresh wave of long-dulled grief and emotions he didn’t dare to dwell on. 

He simply lingered for a little longer before he packed his bag and left, a little more dazed than he’d have liked, both of those damnable melodies floating through his head, twining together, clashing. They weren’t meant to go together, never had been. Connected, perhaps, but never a duet to be played together.  _ Maybe a third piece.  _ He could already see the notes stringing themselves together, and the second he stepped back into the apartment he was scrambling to his desk, finding his blank sheet music and a pencil within seconds before he hastily began to scratch out the notes and melodies that had been twisting through his mind. Two pages in he slammed into a wall and Kageyama sat back, stared at the smudged papers and his fingertips, mouth dry. 

_ This has to stop.  _

He grabbed the sheets and stuffed them into his drawer, hastily changed, and jogged to the gym where the rec league was. They greeted him with open arms, snatched his attention away from those pretty brown eyes and warm smiles, and he lost himself to a rhythm of another kind. One that left muscles aching, lungs burning, smiles forming as he guided the young kids through the drills, helped them find the beats of the game, the ways their bodies needed to form and reform until they found the slice of perfection, a lingering note that held in the air all on its own before the rest of the orchestra crashed in. 

It worked well until it all ended in a rush and Kageyama drifted to the sidelines, checked his phone. A text waited from a new number, but he knew instantly who it was. 

Oikawa wasn’t the only one who had memorized someone’s number. 

True enough, Oikawa had sent him a link to a site called StarrArt, and Kageyama found himself scrolling through the site, enraptured by it. It was elegant, a good layout with a minimalistic background and font type, with several sections for various mediums - commissions, paintings, charcoals, photographs. But what caught his eye was the one under the charcoal - the album image. A familiar face was there, and with his heart in his throat Kageyama tapped on it. The page loaded, and he was greeted by a picture he’d never seen before - a charcoal drawing of himself curled up in a bed, drowning in sheets of slate grays and blacks and whites, fingers curled up beneath his chin. It was messy, but delicate in a strange way, smudged and smeared in a strange way that made it feel just as sleepy and warm as how he looked. 

Kageyama swallowed hard. Pocketed his phone, grabbed his shit, and ducked out of the gym, desperately fighting off the burn in his eyes. The walk home wasn’t long enough, the winds weren’t cold enough - hard to be in the middle of summer. It only took a few minutes for him to reach the apartment, to trudge up the steps and hesitate in front of the door before he unlocked it. Stared down at the pair of shoes in the entryway. He shut the door quietly, glanced around. There were fresh bottles of alcohol on the coffee table - most were empty. 

“Aiden?” he called quietly. 

The toilet flushed. Water ran. The bathroom door opened and Aiden slouched out, hair messy, tie loose around his neck, and collar unbuttoned. Once, that had been a beautiful sight to come home to, had made parts of Kageyama stir in ways he hadn’t felt since Oikawa. But now they just made his stomach churn, even as he managed a tiny smile and met Aiden in the middle. His partner pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek, breath smelling of strawberry alcohol. “How was work?” he whispered into Aiden’s neck, hugging his boyfriend close as the other man trailed one hand down his back, slow and filled with promises. 

“Sucked,” he grunted in return, “Couldn’t end soon enough. You were out so  _ long _ .” 

“I had to coach the rec team.” 

“They’d’ve been fine without you for  _ one _ night.” 

Kageyama didn’t mention the fact that he’d already missed far too many practices with them because Aiden had come early from work, had urged him back into the bedroom despite his protests and fucked him through it. Didn’t mention how the kids sometimes asked where he got the bruises on him from, ugly ones that left his stomach turning every time he looked at them, felt them. There were still ones lingering from the last time, nearly a week before, mere splotches of yellow and green, and surely there would be more added soon if the hand sliding down to cup his ass was any indicator. Aiden slipped down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Kageyama’s neck as he stood there, frozen, body warming, even as he closed his eyes, bit his tongue. 

When Aiden grabbed his hand, tugged him to the bedroom, he didn’t fight it. When those clumsy hands stripped him, he didn’t help, but he didn’t do anything to deter him either. He just laid there, let Aiden stretch him carelessly and push in, pain bringing tears to his eyes that he buried in the pillow he smothered himself with, fingers clutching at the fabric and holding on for dear life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2. "I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you" - Nietzsche

Kageyama spent far too long looking through Oikawa’s site in the following days. There were pieces he recognized from the early days, but not many - the charcoal drawing of him, a painting of the garden from Oikawa’s family home, a picture of Iwaizumi’s pet snake, and a few others. It wasn’t hard to see how the quality had improved throughout the years, his paintings exquisite, even in the occasional messiness that seemed to flow easily, perfection in every imperfection. Like a chaotic play in a match that worked out, or a crashing crescendo in a musical piece, right before the calm and victory came. 

Oikawa’s art left his veins buzzing, almost as much as the texts full of emoticons and cheerful  _ Tobio-chans  _ did. It was familiar, but different all at the same time. Almost as much as the profile picture on the autobiography page of his site. An image of him with hair a little shorter than it had been at the café, enough that Kageyama could see the earrings that lined his ears, a dark contrast to his skin, but it was nice - an interesting change, and one that suited him well, just like the light button down with the sleeves rolled up. 

All of the photos of himself were in black and white, simplistic - a total opposite from what everyone would expect from Oikawa, but Kageyama knew why he placed so much value in the simplicity of that, why he preferred it. 

_ “It’s so you can see what lies beyond the colors.”  _

Kageyama shook his head, drew his mind back to the books in front of him. The coach had yelled at him for having bad practices, for being distracted, and some of his teammates had asked if he was okay. He'd just shrugged in the end, not too certain of how to respond, what to say. Everything had been thrown into the air with the appearance of Oikawa. Or maybe before that, with the slow descent of his relationship with Aiden, only it had been covered in film, a hidden melody, discordant against the rest of the tune, more noticeable as time went on, and the last of it had been exposed -  _ “Surely my Tobio-chan found someone nice.” _

Things were not so simple - hadn't been in far too long. He just wasn’t really sure when things had changed, when those saccharine words had faded away into something far less sweet. He sighed, rubbed his hands along his face, and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling of the library. His books sat in front of him, spread open, but otherwise untouched. He’d come to the library with the plan to study, but his thoughts were too full, spinning around Aiden, Oikawa, himself, around everything that had brought him to where he was. 

His wrist throbbed, a ghost of pain working through it. He pressed his fingers into it, found the hairline scars that ran along his skin. They had faded in the last two years, but still stood stark against his pale flesh. He rubbed his wrist, grimaced and shook his head and grabbed his books, closed them and grabbed his pens. He slowly packed his things away and checked his phone, but there were no texts waiting. 

Probably for the best. 

It was late, past the usual time he stayed, but it had all been for nothing. Workouts, school, practice, and study hall on top of a long, sleepless night had left him drained, and with all the thoughts filling his head, it was all he could do to focus. Spinning around far too much, and yet far too little all at once. Kageyama shouldered his bag up and strode out of the library into the cooling night air. 

He didn’t text Aiden, just walked, counting beats between the steps, humming faintly to himself. His fingers tapped away at his palms, eyes cataloging cracks in the pavement, signs as he strode past. They were familiar songs, melodies he’d ingrained into his mind from countless rehearsals across over a dozen instruments - he simply wanted to keep his mind off the three melodies, far too fresh on his mind for comfort. 

Kageyama clenched his hands. Glared up at a stop light and took a breath. He flowed with the rest of the crowd, feet almost, but not quite dragging the ground. There was too much - too many thoughts, too many loud noises, strong scents, touches from all around. It left the world spinning, fading in and out as he closed his eyes, sucked down a deep breath, and continued to walk. All too soon he found himself back at the apartment, staring at the door, chest far too heavy. 

_ I don’t want to go in.  _

But Hinata was out of town for a game, and his teammates were who knows where, and he didn’t really have any friends from classes that he felt comfortable with staying with. And he didn’t know where Oikawa was. Knew it was  _ definitely _ a bad idea to ask, to even think about that. He swallowed hard, unlocked the door, and slipped in. It was dark, but he could just see shoes lying in the entryway. He closed the door, locked it as he dropped his bag, kicked his shoes off, and listlessly moved through the apartment, feet quiet on the floor. 

He stilled by the couch, breath catching as he turned his head. Something was creaking, that same familiar squeak he’d had ingrained in his mind from the bedroom. Kageyama’s head cocked to the side. He crept through the dark apartment towards the strip of light of their bedroom, feet quiet on the wood. 

A loud exhale caught him, familiar. 

The door was cracked. 

Kageyama hesitated outside, eyebrows furrowed, before he pressed his fingers to the wood, pressed. The lights were blinding, sharp against his eyes. Clothes scattered on the floor - unfamiliar mixed with the painfully familiar. Two bodies on the bed, bare, tangled together. Aiden on top, balls-deep in some man with his face hidden, legs wrapped tight around Aiden’s waist, fingers tangled in his hair. The man on the bottom moaned. 

Another sound crept out. 

Their heads whipped towards him, Aiden’s eyes slowly widening as the other man clutched at his arms. Kageyama nodded to the both of them, spun around, and walked back out. 

Pulled his shoes on. 

Grabbed his bag and jacket. 

Walked back out, barely seeing the steps as he jogged down them. 

Burst back out onto the street. 

His hands trembled as he pulled his phone from his pocket, spurned by the vibrations. A text from Oikawa. Kageyama’s mouth was dry. He unlocked his phone. Pressed call. Put the phone to his ear. The answer came instantly.  _ “Tobio-chan? What’s wrong?”  _

“Can I… come over?” he whispered, voice cracking halfway through. 

There was a sudden intake of air.  _ “Yeah, of course. Ah, how close are you to Block One-Twenty?”  _

“Five blocks.” 

_ “Okay. I’m in Building Five. Just… I’ll be waiting out there for you, okay?”  _

“Okay…” he whispered. And he started to walk. The blocks blurred. Steps faded into each other. He couldn’t see the faces of anyone he passed. Wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. Kageyama simply moved, fingers flexing, but no melodies finding their way to his fingertips. Nothing but a hollow ache that left his chest throbbing, his world spinning faintly as he stumbled along. He found himself slowing on the block, feet dragging the concrete as he stared ahead, found a familiar figure ahead, leaned against a wall and drenched in the soft golden glow of the street lights. His head rose. 

Oikawa peeled himself away from the wall as Kageyama came to a stop a meter or so away, hands loose by his sides. One step brought Oikawa closer. Then another. More and more until Oikawa closed the distance, hands hesitantly coming up to curl around Kageyama’s elbow, his head tipping to the side. “Tobio…” he whispered, “Why are you crying? What happened?” 

Kageyama sniffed, raised a hand and pressed his fingertips to his cheeks, found dampness waiting on him, and he sniffed quietly. “Can I just… come up?” 

“Of course, of course you can. C’mon.” 

A large hand found its way to his back, warm, careful as it guided him towards the entryway. Oikawa didn’t press in the elevator, didn’t say anything the whole way up to his apartment, up on the sixth floor, down at the end of the hall. They just walked, that hand persistent on his back, Oikawa’s presence all too tangible. 

The apartment suited Oikawa, clean and warm with wooden floors and cream-colored walls. It was less modern than his own, blended with older styles, but it still fit him. The TV was playing some alien documentary. There were various potted plants sitting around - succulents and ivy, what looked like herbs in the kitchen window. Kageyama couldn’t help but stare until Oikawa’s fingers tightened on his back, and Kageyama leaned over, slipped his shoes off. Oikawa handed him slippers just a hair too big, but he slid them on anyways and followed Oikawa through the apartment until he sat Kageyama at the table, legs folded up under him. “I’ll make tea. I have cake if you want some - do you?” 

Kageyama shrugged listlessly. Oikawa’s eyes lingered on him for a hair too long before he sighed and moved off to the kitchen. Kageyama waited until his back was turned before he slid his phone out. 

No texts. 

He swallowed. Licked his lips and set his phone down. His eyes settled on the tabletop, blank, not quite seeing, even as he traced the grains of the wood with idle fingers. Everything felt thick, slow, and he wasn't even sure if he could feel his body properly. A touch to his shoulder made him jerk, and Oikawa smiled apologetically before he handed over a steaming mug of tea. Kageyama didn't even wait, just took a sip of the hot tea - black. His favorite. Mixed with honey and sugar and a little something extra he'd never figured out, but still adored. “You remember,” he mumbled, chest twisting. 

Oikawa sank down onto the coffee table and smiled faintly. “Of course. You always begged me to make your tea.” 

Kageyama grunted, shrugged, drank more. Oikawa didn't say anything, just eyed him as they sat there, knees centimeters apart, Oikawa's fingers dangling in the middle, fluttering, as though he was debating about crossing the distance. Kageyama took another sip, found the mug empty, and he stared at it for a long moment, lips pursed, before he sighed, settled it on his thighs, eyes glued to it as he traced the rim. “Aiden was fucking another guy.” 

A sharp inhale made his eyes flick up, Oikawa already reaching out to touch him. Kageyama flinched back and Oikawa's hands faltered before they settled down onto Kageyama's knees. “Are you…” 

“It shouldn't matter,” he said flatly, fingers tightening in his cup. It shouldn't matter, because Aiden was an asshole, had been for a while, but- 

“It should,” Oikawa said softly, squeezing Kageyama's knees. “You liked him. You were  _ dating _ him. There are standards that asshole clearly didn't have the brainpower to comprehend.” 

Kageyama snorted, even as his throat went thick, making it nearly impossible to swallow as a familiar burn filled his eyes. “It's fine.” 

“It's  _ not _ fine - ‘fine' is what people say when shit hits the fan. Trust me. I know.” How many times had he heard  _ “I'm fine”  _ coming from those lips, desperate to fool, to pretend that everything was alright, would be alright, that there was no pain beneath that sunshine exterior? Kageyama opened his mouth, but Oikawa shook his head, scooted a little closer so that their knees bumped. “You're not fine, Tobio-chan. We both know it. You don't have to talk, okay? But… at least admit that things aren't okay.” 

Kageyama couldn't swallow. Almost couldn't breathe. He worked his jaw. Ran his bitten tongue along his teeth. “They aren't… They haven't been okay… for a while.” 

Silence for a moment, and then- “Tobio-chan? He hasn’t… has he hit you?” 

Kageyama stiffened, shook his head viciously. Only once, and that had been months ago. No, it was just the casually slung insults, the cold distance, the inability to speak to one another, the drinking - the sex. He swallowed hard. “I… don’t really want to talk about it,” he whispered. 

Oikawa’s eyes darkened, but he nodded. “You can stay here for the night. But… promise me you’re not going to go back to him.” 

Kageyama’s mouth was dry, but he nodded. He didn’t want to go back, not to a man that didn’t love him, that used him like a toy and fucked him until he bled, fucked him through the protests he whimpered into the bed and the tears that poured into the pillow. “I have nowhere else to go. I live with him.” 

“There are apartments you can find short-notice. Hell, you can stay with me until you get things sorted out. Tobio-chan, I’m not leaving you to go through this alone.” Kageyama sniffed, but he nodded. Oikawa smiled faintly. Squeezed his knee. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll heat up dinner and get the futon ready.” 

Kageyama could only nod and slip into the bathroom, numb. He barely felt the water, even though it was hot enough to turn his skin cherry-red within seconds as it pounded down on him. He just couldn’t feel it. He stood there for far too long, staring blankly at the creamy tile walls until he blinked, felt some sliver of himself return, and he started to move, stiff. Oikawa had a few products, but he’d certainly downsized since Kageyama had last been in a shower Oikawa consistently occupied. 

Kageyama picked at random, used a washcloth to scrub his body - it wasn’t enough to fully strip the reminders of Aiden, of his disgusting touch, but he managed, and soon enough he stepped out of the shower and stared at the clothes Oikawa had left him for a long time before he pulled them on. The sweatpants were just long enough. The shirt was loose on him. And they smelled like Oikawa, a realization that left Kageyama’s chest going tight, his eyes burning as he fisted his hands together, nails biting into his palms. He needed to  _ move,  _ to focus on nothing but the burn in his limbs. 

Kageyama emerged, found Oikawa seated on the couch, the microwave going steadily in the background. Those warm brown eyes were on him in an instant and Kageyama shied away from the stare, awkwardly rubbing his neck as he glanced away. “Actually… can I pace?” 

Oikawa’s eyes widened and he rose quickly. “Of course. Do you want music? Do you have your phone? I can plug it into the speakers? Or do you want earbuds?” 

“Speakers.” 

He passed his phone over, watched as his - friend? Ex? He wasn’t sure what they were anymore - plugged his phone into the speaker. Seconds later, Kageyama’s playlist filled the air, heavy and fast-paced, and he felt himself sinking into it, relief twisting through his spine. A glance at Oikawa was met with a nod, and Oikawa retreated to the kitchen, back to Kageyama. Even now, years later, it was still a private thing, one that left him uncomfortable to do around others, but he had no choice. Because if he didn’t move, if he didn’t throw himself into the music, he was certain he’d combust. 

Kageyama started to move, steps quick, light on the floor, and he strode around, weaving his way through the furniture. Fingers trailed, found fabrics and textures he categorized, tracing patterns along the fabric, the wood, breathing quick, sharp. 

_ “Get off me-”  _

_ “Shut the fuck up.”  _

Kageyama’s nails bit into the couch and he spun, strode across the room faster. The music thrummed in his ears. His nails bit into his palms. There was pain, swimming, churning, mixing with the cold numbness, and he clung to it, drove in harder as he whipped around. Threw all his energy into moving, into breathing, into not thinking- 

_ Hands on his hips, painfully tight as they shoved him down onto the bed and pinned him there as harsh teeth sank into his collarbone-  _

Kageyama slapped his thigh, felt Oikawa’s eyes burning on him for a moment before they flicked away, and he paused, sucked down a breath, and buried his nails into his palms. Pressed one hand to a chair. Dragged his fingers down it. Threw himself into the music. One song melted into the next. Memories came and went, fluttering through his brain, barely tangible, fleeting, and he let them slip past, even when they left his heart and chest twisting brutally. Flashes of Aiden, of Oikawa, of his hand in a cast, broken and mending, of Aiden and whoever he was fucking. 

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he stopped, panting as he stood in the center of Oikawa’s living room. Cold sweat trickled down his back. He swallowed hard. Glanced to the kitchen. Oikawa was seated there, his back to Kageyama, a book in his hands, earbuds in. A breath of relief shuddered out of Kageyama. He sucked down a few more breaths, wiped his face, before he turned the music off. Walked over. Brushed his fingers over Oikawa’s shoulder. 

Oikawa twitched, turned, and closed his book with a smile as he pulled his earbuds out. “Better?” 

Kageyama nodded. He was met with a smile and fingers brushing across the back of his hand, hesitant, before Oikawa slid their palms together, the touch familiar. Kageyama’s fingers fluttered, but he didn’t pull away as Oikawa squeezed his hand. 

“Let’s go to eat dinner, okay? Then we can do to bed. The futon is ready and everything. If you want to shower again, you can do that too.” 

Kageyama could only nod, speechless. Neither of them moved for a beat too long, and then they pulled apart, the warmth lingering for far too long as he watched Oikawa pull out plates and silverware, dumping food onto one of them. He let Kageyama get his own food, like he knew that Kageyama didn’t feel hungry, only a bone-deep nausea - they knew each other too well, even after so long. But he couldn’t complain as he ate in silence, listening dully to Oikawa’s soft voice as he regaled some story about himself in college, something about a prank some of the underclassmen had pulled in his second year. 

Kageyama focused on that as much as he could, chewing mechanically through food that tasted like sawdust and sat just as pleasantly in his stomach. But he powered on, and by the time he finished his eyes were drooping, the exhaustion of the day too much. Oikawa’s hand found his once more, warm, reassuring, and Kageyama could only let Oikawa lead him to bed, toes dragging the ground. 

There were two futons set up in the bedroom, side by side, and he halted for a moment, but it was easy enough to fall into the one that looked like it didn’t belong to Oikawa - that much was clear in the green alien plush that sat on the pillow. The prize Kageyama had won for him at the festival they’d gone together for their first date. He stared at it for far too long before he burrowed under the covers, pulled them up, blinked at Oikawa who grinned at him before he flicked the lights out. 

Kageyama didn’t hear Oikawa walk in, but he woke when the room was dark, Oikawa sleeping peacefully beside him, to his heart in his throat, slamming frantic beats through his body as he gasped. It was far too long before he was able to breathe normally, for his limbs to unlock as he rolled over, faced Oikawa. To reach out and slide their hands together, desperate for some sliver of comfort in the too-early hours of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((´д｀)) little (read: way) behind on responding to comments, but I'll try to do that soon, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

He moved out the day after. 

Hinata took the train from Tokyo, and the rest of the Hinata clan joined Kageyama, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi in helping Kageyama get everything from the apartment. They picked a good time - Aiden was gone, and so was the guy he’d been fucking, but the reminders were there in the  _ “Call me xoxo”  _ written on a sticky note on the bedside table and the used condoms that littered the floor. 

With so many people, it was quick - and they kept him from focusing too much on all the little details. Kept him from buckling to the ground and dissolving in a panic attack. As it was, he almost didn’t realize he was crying until Natsu tugged on his sleeve and quietly pointed it out, so soft that the others wouldn’t notice, and he was able to wipe the tears away before anyone else saw. It was foolish, crying over someone like Aiden. But there was guilt that sat heavy in his bones, left him lethargic as he slowly packed his things away into box after box. 

_ If I’d been better-  _

_ If I’d done things differently-  _

_ If I hadn’t been such a freak-  _

_ Maybe he would have loved me.  _

And those thoughts were hard to shake, even weeks later when he laid in his new apartment, a cramped little thing with one bedroom and a little kitchenette. His things fit neatly inside - music books and CDs carefully arranged, volleyballs and the few cherished trophies and awards hung up and placed, his instruments tucked in the corner of his bedroom. Music sheets spread out on the floor, scattered, almost haphazard, while he lay in the center, hands loosely curled, palms facing the ceiling. There was a crack. Some discoloration. He hadn’t cared enough when he’d found it. It had been last minute, a rush, desperate to get out of Oikawa’s apartment, away from the reminders of the life they’d had together. He’d only stayed there for a week before he’d gone and stayed with Hinata’s family - spring break was a blessing to say the least. 

Kageyama sighed, raised one arm to his face and hid the ceiling behind it. A chill ran up his spine, but he didn’t move. Wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to, or simply because he couldn’t, weighed down by too many memories, too much of everything, with no way to get it all out. Not even with music. 

He slapped the floor until he found his phone, raised it. 

Twenty minutes until practice with the kids. 

A text from Oikawa.

**From Oikawa:** **  
** **I know you have practice with the kids tonight and I’ve got work until they’re done, but do you want to practice some after? Just the two of us?**

It took far too long to respond with a simple “Yes”, and Oikawa fired back with a question for the address, and then it was done, and Kageyama was back in the silence of his apartment, only the sounds of the city breaking it. 

He peeled himself from the floor, pulled on clothes that should’ve been washed days ago - would have, if not for the bone-deep lethargy, the constant need, but inability to cry. He left the apartment quickly, jogged down the streets. It was closer to the gym, and he made it with ten minutes to spare, and it was easy to just keep running laps around the gym, feeling the burn of the movements in his muscles, sucking in the sweet cool air of the gym as his tennis shoes squeaked on the polished wooden floors. 

The kids started trickling in not long after, and he stopped, helped them set up, fell into the rhythm of drills. It was easy. Always had been. But they knew something was off - had known since that first week, just two days after, when he showed up and one of them had looked him dead in the eye and said  _ “Sir… are you okay?”  _

But now, no one mentioned it, and he managed to force a smile to his lips as he split the kids into two teams, one of the other coaches helping him corral them into their areas. Some of the kids were talented - reminded him of Hinata, of Oikawa, Sawamura. Others, not so much, but they were like early incarnations of Hinata: a lot of potential that needed a lot of refinement. He just couldn’t bitch at them like he’d been able to with Hinata. Parents tended to frown on their children bursting into tears. 

He was seated on the bench, clipboard in hand and eyes glued to the match when he shivered, a weight settling on him. Kageyama managed to wait until a lull in the game before he glanced up. 

Across the gym, on the running track that wrapped around the court upstairs, stood Oikawa in a faded Aoba Johsai shirt and black sweats, a bag slung over his shoulder. Oikawa smiled. Wiggled his fingers. 

Kageyama ducked his head and rose, ears far too warm, and he forced his eyes back to the court. He tried to focus, he really did, but it was hard with the weight of those eyes on him, heavy, intoxicating, and it left him reeling as he stood there, desperately trying to find the flaws in the players spread out before him. And then the weight of that gaze lifted, and he could breathe a little easier - even if it did leave him with an ache and a yearning that he wanted to stomp away into nothingness. 

Thankfully, practice wrapped up quickly, and from there it was easy to usher the kids out, insisting that he was going to practice and could break it down himself. Soon enough, the gym emptied out, and he was left in the center of the gym, alone. Right until Oikawa stepped in, that bright grin in place once more, hair carefully styled as always. 

“Ready to start, Tobio-chan?” 

He rolled his eyes, but he gave a pointed stare to Oikawa, who clicked his tongue and shed his sweats. They stretched together in silence, long and slow. Oikawa had his knee brace - a good thing too, because when he’d last seen Oikawa, his knee had been giving him more trouble than ever before.  _ I guess we’re a little broken together.  _ His hand, Oikawa’s knee - not to mention the shattered hearts.  _ I wish things could have been different.  _ But they weren’t, and they certainly couldn’t change the past - but perhaps the future. 

“Any plans for what you want to do?” 

“Well,” Oikawa hummed, “We obviously don’t have enough for a match, but we can just do some spiking and tossing work. Maybe a serve competition?” 

“Can your knee handle that?” 

Oikawa’s smile went thin-lipped. “Trust me, I know when to stop now.” 

Kageyama managed to give him a faint smile before they rose. Oikawa insisted they play rock-paper-scissors to see who got to set first - Kageyama won, mostly because he remembered that Oikawa was too fond of scissors. He was simply easy to predict sometimes, just like how it had been easy to see the pout he pulled up was fake before he jogged into place. 

Kageyama spun the ball in his hand for a moment, then lightly tossed it to Oikawa. The ball was bumped up beautifully - he would’ve hit the floor laughing if it hadn’t been - and Kageyama’s hands rose, fluid, familiar. 

Oikawa moved, shoes squeaking, breaths just barely audible, and Kageyama felt a warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt in far too long. The ball brushed his fingers. Oikawa jumped. He sent the toss to him, swift, precise, and Oikawa’s arm snapped forward, send it crashing to the ground, a brutal spike. He hit the ground and spun, a large grin on his lips. 

“Good job, Tobio-chan!” 

“Maybe you should’ve been a wing spiker instead.” 

Oikawa’s nose crinkled. “Hell no. Setting is the best position.” 

“Don’t let Iwaizumi hear you say that.” 

“Iwa-chan knows how I feel about it! Besides, we all know that only  _ brutes _ can be wing spikers, and let’s not even talk about aces!” 

“What about Azumane?” 

Oikawa’s lips pursed. “Hush you.” There was a beat of silence, and then Oikawa was clutching his sides and giggling, shaking as he shook his head. “Oh God, he was too good for this world, I swear. Sometimes, I’m amazed he made it playing with the kind of people your team had.” 

Kageyama shrugged. “He was a good guy.” 

“That he was. Now c’mon, toss some more.” 

They continued like that, rotating after five sets. It had been a long time since he’d hit Oikawa’s sets - they were things of beauty, and they brought out the best in everyone - even in him.  _ But isn’t that just how Oikawa is? He brings out the best in people, no matter what.  _ And he could see it with the spikes that progressively got better, memories flashing between. 

Ice cream cones in the middle of July, dripping down their fingers if they were too slow to lick it up, leaving kisses tasting sweet as they leaned in, stayed together just a hair too long. Serving together, slowly going through the motions, watching as Oikawa’s long legs bunched and flexed before exploding into action, and trying to replicate that. Lying in bed, curled up close, falling asleep to the sound of Oikawa’s soft words and softer breaths as he told stories, talked mindlessly, reminded Kageyama of how much he was loved. 

The screaming. 

The crying. 

That last goodbye. 

By the time they finished setting and tossing, both of them were drenched in sweat and panting, and Oikawa had settled on the ground to stretched out his leg. “Is it bothering you?” 

“Nah,” he said, “I’ve been careful. Gonna have to be careful with my serves, but it should be okay.” 

“Good.” 

“Yeah… what about your hand? Don’t act dumb either - I can see the scars.” Kageyama curled it in, almost as though he could hide it, and Oikawa raised an eyebrow, face soft. “What happened? Those weren’t there when… a few years ago.” 

Kageyama glanced away, fingers settling into familiar places along his hand. He could only feel the plate because he knew it was there, could feel the scars and traced down paths he’d memorized years before, back when they’d still been raw, covered in stitches. “Yeah. Happened around the time we stopped talking.” Oikawa’s face twisted, his expression too complex for Kageyama to read - he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyways. He just spun his water bottle in his hands and barreled on, eyes fixed on the next. “There was a girl in my class. Really jealous of - I don’t know, my music I guess. I don’t know why. But she took me by surprise. Knocked me down and shattered my hand. I had to get a plate and screws. Permanent ones.” 

Oikawa’s eyes widened, mouth falling open, and Kageyama glanced at him with a faint, wry smile. “I just got back to playing volleyball last year. She’s why I transferred.” Because, after that, it had been impossible to step back in that music building without struggling to breathe. Had been impossible to look at an instrument for almost six months - partly because he couldn’t play, partly because that was what had started the whole mess in the first place. 

Oikawa’s face fell, and he shook his head slightly. “I’m… Tobio-chan, I’m sorry… I wish I’d known. Why- why didn’t you tell me?” 

Kageyama shrugged. “I tried to message you, but you weren’t responding. And then this happened, and… yeah.” 

Oikawa stared at him, eyes wide, the grief so blatant on his face that even Kageyama could read it, and it left him breathless, reeling as they stared at one another just long enough to make Kageyama twitchy. He glanced away. “I’m so sorry…” 

The words were hoarse, whispered into the too-heavy silence in the gym. Kageyama could only stand and shrug as he glanced back at Oikawa. “It’s in the past.” In the past, but still painfully present. His hand throbbed. He took a breath. He held his hand out. “Let’s serve.” 

Oikawa managed a smile. 

Took his hand. 

Their competitive natures flared when they began to serve. The goal was to place it at certain points in the court, and they worked their way across it, back and forth. There were no water bottles to hit, but Kageyama could visualize the defense, all crouched and ready to move. Oikawa’s serves hadn’t lost any of their power, let alone their accuracy - but it was easy to see how they made him struggle. He landed wrong more times than not, and before they reached twenty, Kageyama saw his knee buckle, but Oikawa caught himself before he could fall. 

He ended it there. 

Oikawa glared at him, but there was relief flashing across his face when he thought Kageyama wasn’t looking. Together, they cleaned the gym up, stored everything away, and gathered their things. 

“Wanna get dinner with me? My treat,” Oikawa said as Kageyama locked the gym. 

He glanced over, then shrugged. “Sure.” 

Oikawa laughed, a loud, full-body thing that left Kageyama warm and buzzing as they turned, started off down the street. “I thought you’d be more excited for free food! You must really be tired!” 

“Enough that even your crappy personality can’t turn me away from food.” 

“Tobio-chan! So mean! You love m-” 

The words hung there, both of them almost frozen, but then Kageyama snorted, rolled his eyes. “In your fucking dreams.” 

“So rude! I’m gonna have Iwa-chan beat you up!” 

“Good fucking luck.” 

Oikawa laughed, and Kageyama’s hand curled over his chest, around his strap, pressing in and trying to quell that frantic flutter inside. 

_ Stop. This can’t happen again.  _

Because, as intoxicating as it was, as much as it enticed him, it was dangerous. And they both knew it. Saw it in the way they snatched their hands apart if they brushed. In the stilted words as Oikawa tried to find solid ground he could stand on. In the hesitant touches to his shoulder when he zoned out, or the arm that no longer carelessly slung itself around his shoulders. 

Especially when the touches made him flinch, stop breathing, all too ready for Aiden to be breathing down his neck, stripping him, ignoring his words, his tears. Kageyama shook his head angrily, clenched his hand, nails biting into his palm. 

_ Stop. Just stop.  _

Oikawa didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps he just didn’t want Kageyama to know that he had. Whatever it was, they quickly ended up at a ramen shop and settled themselves at the counter. The questions came after they ordered, soft, hesitant. “How are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Oikawa huffed and twisted to face him, eyes soft. “How are you  _ doing,  _ Tobio-chan? I know… what you just went through was difficult.” 

Kageyama swallowed. Fiddled his hands with the straw wrapper, slowly tearing it apart, focused on that as he rolled words in his mouth. “I’m… better.” Still having nightmares. Still waking up and expecting to find a bed with some semblance of warmth, even if it made his stomach turn. Still flinching at loud noises, or whenever his phone went off. But no texts or calls had been from Aiden. Not a single one. 

“You don’t have to lie,” Oikawa whispered, “You don’t have to pretend to be strong.” 

“I’m not.” Because, the truth was, he’d given up on loving Aiden a long time ago. He just hadn’t realized it. Perhaps that was why he’d started coaching the kids too. Something to keep him out of the apartment, away from the person he’d once loved. 

“Well… are you sleeping well?” 

“Okay, I suppose.” 

Oikawa’s lips pursed. His hand stretched out, hesitated, and then closed around Kageyama’s, fingers warm, familiar, and his chest tightened as he bit his tongue. “If you need anything, just let me know, okay? I’m not going to let you slip away this time.” 

He opened his mouth. Closed it again and bit back the words that threatened to bubble up.  _ But you’re the one who broke up with me. You’re the one who left me.  _

He didn’t say it, but Oikawa still seemed to know, because he closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his forehead, and sighed. “Fuck… I really am such an asshole.” 

“No, you’re not,” Kageyama said softly. “You’re… you’re trying. And it means a lot.” 

A brown eye cracked open, found him. Oikawa searched his face, and he must have found whatever he was looking for because, after a moment, he shrugged and pulled his hand back. “Well, how are your classes going?” 

“You asked me that a week ago.” 

“Well- a lot can change in a week!” Kageyama raised an eyebrow. Oikawa flushed and looked away. “I learned the hard way in O-Chem…” he grumbled after a few seconds, then glanced back. “ _ One _ test grade and I went from an  _ A  _ to a  _ F!  _ It was  _ atrocious,  _ Tobio-chan!” He couldn’t help but choke on a small laugh, and Oikawa pouted at him, eyes narrowed in a glare that didn’t match the glitter inside. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Yeah, well, you are too.” 

“Assholes that are stuck with one another.” 

Kageyama flicked Oikawa. “I’m not  _ stuck _ with you, and you’re not stuck with me - we probably would’ve killed each other ages ago if that was the case.” 

“True enough! But luckily- oh look, our food!” 

Kageyama wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the distraction or not, but the food was hot and smelled delicious, and after a murmur of thanks, they dug in. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was - that had been something that hadn’t been so apparent in the last few weeks. More often than not, he didn’t eat, and when he did, it was usually because someone asked, and the guilt was too much.  _ I should eat though. This is ridiculous.  _ There was no reason to grieve over a love that had long-since been lost - and yet. But here, with Oikawa’s eyes on him and the delicious smell and taste and the ache in his stomach, it was impossible to not practically inhale his entire bowl. 

He was done long before Oikawa, and his second bowl came by the time Oikawa had finished his, grinning and shaking his head. “Jeez Tobio-chan, you look like you haven’t eaten all day.” 

“I haven’t,” he mumbled around a bite of noodles. 

Oikawa narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to come over tomorrow and make you dinner.” Kageyama stilled, chewed, swallowed, and blinked at Oikawa. “Why?” 

“So you’ll actually eat, you numbskull. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re missing meals.” 

Kageyama grimaced, but he shrugged. “If you want. I’m free. There’s some stuff-” 

“Nope, I’ll bring my own ingredients. Just make sure you have black tea.” 

Kageyama smiled. “Only if you make it for me.” 

Oikawa grinned. “Anything for my dear Tobio-chan.” 

Those words made his chest warm far too much, and he had to hide his embarrassment behind another bite - though that wouldn’t hide how red his ears got, especially not beneath the weight of that stare. And yet he found that he didn’t really mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Kageyama made it another week before he caved, both to the demands of the children, and to the urging from his own stupid heart, and shot Oikawa a text, simple and quick. Surprisingly, the answer had taken a long time, long after Oikawa had opened the message and sent him a quick  _ “I’ll think about it”,  _ but it culminated in a yes. In a knock on his door that he answered in a flash, smiling faintly. “Oikawa.” 

Oikawa smiled cheerily, wiggled his fingers, and stepped in. “Hey there, Tobio-chan! Ready to have fun with the kiddos?” 

Kageyama rolled his eyes. “You sound so delighted for it.” 

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have agreed to this.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Oikawa patted the top of his head as he slipped past, set his bag against the wall before he drifted further in. “You’ve really moved in.” 

“Yeah.” But he still found himself confused when he woke up in the middle of the night and found an empty, narrow bed, unfamiliar halls, half the furniture and things missing. When he found no cruel hands on his skin or harsh words grating on his ears, ripping him down, piece by insignificant piece. Kageyama closed his eyes. Grabbed the lip of the counter. Swallowed hard as he tried to stuff away the memories, the slick, disgusting feeling that sat heavy in his belly, left his stomach rolling as he shook his head slowly. 

“You okay?” Oikawa whispered, voice soft. 

Kageyama licked his lips. Nodded slowly. “I… give me a minute.” 

A slow inhale. 

A footstep. 

Another. 

Warm fingers whispered across his wrist, trailed down to curl around his palm Oikawa’s other fingers trailed across the back of Kageyama’s. Traced the lines from surgery. Drew a pattern up his forearm. “I’m right here. You’re safe. I promise, you’re far away from that.” 

Kageyama smiled thinly. “Never far enough.” 

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” he said softly. 

Kageyama shook his head. Took a deep breath. Pulled himself away, back to Oikawa, and strode away, grabbed waters from the fridge. Focused on the cold on his hands as he set them aside. “I’ve got some snacks if you want.” 

“I’m fine. Have you done your homework?” 

“Enough of it.” Never mind the fact that there was a paper due in two days that he hadn’t even started, as well as a test in two of his classes the same day, neither of which he’d bothered to study for. Oikawa snorted, but he didn’t press it. He simply waited, watched, and Kageyama pointedly ignored him as he threw his bag together, then turned. “Ready to go?” 

Oikawa smiled. “When am I not?” 

Kageyama swatted him gently, and that only made Oikawa laugh before he too grabbed his things, and they left. The walk was quiet, uncomfortably so, but Kageyama focused on each step, each breath, and on anything he could. On the cracks in the pavement, not the ones that riddled him, so rampant that he wasn’t sure if anything unbroken was left. He swallowed. Drew in a harsh breath. Kept walking. 

They made it to the gym just a few minutes early, several kids and parents there already, patting their kids and reminding them to focus, to pay good and close attention to their coach, to work hard. Their eyes lit up when they spotted Kageyama, and one of them, Adachi, rushed forward, grinning as he threw his arms around Kageyama’s leg. “Coach! You’re here! Your friend is back!” 

Kageyama smiled thinly, ruffled the boy’s wild black hair, and he nodded. “Yep, he is. I’ve got something good to tell you all in a bit.” The kid lit up, mouth dropping open, and with that he bounced back to his friends, babbling excitedly to them. They cast glanced at him, grinning, excited, and Kageyama shot a glance to Oikawa. “You might regret agreeing to this.” 

Oikawa smiled, shook his head. “No chance in he- heck, Tobio-chan. You forget, I used to coach Takeru and the other kids on his team!” 

“Fair,” Kageyama said, and he turned. Together, he and Oikawa set the nets up, pulled the carts of balls out, and the kids steadily trickled in until everyone was there, dressed and ready to go. Kageyama corralled them into a semi-circle, their bright eyes wide, frozen on him. “Welcome back,” he said softly after a long pause. “We… I found you a new coach and-” 

“You’re leaving us?” one of them cried, his green eyes flying wide open, sharp hurt flashing across his face. All of the kids gasped, twitched forward, but they held back, staring up at him, confused, easy to read, even for someone like him. Kageyama shook his head, raised his hands and waved them. “No, no - I’m not going anywhere. I’m still going to coach you all, I just have some help now. I’d like to introduce you to my old friend, Oikawa Tooru.” 

The shock melted away in an instant, brilliant grins stretching across their lips. “Whoa!” 

“So cool!” 

“Nice to meet you, mister!” 

“Okay,” Kageyama interrupted, a stern edge to his voice. “Introduce yourselves to him, okay? Give a fact about yourself, what grade you’re in.” 

The kids bounced excitedly, jostling each other, eager to be the first to go, but Oikawa selected one of them. They went around quickly, names pouring off their lips, facts spoken out in bright, eager voices. Kageyama knew all their names, knew most of the things they said, but even now it left him dizzy at the sheer number of children around him, that he handled regularly, but Oikawa nodded seriously, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “Nice to meet you all - I can’t wait to get to help you all get better.” 

“Oh! Mr. Oikawa Coach sir!” 

“Just Oikawa is fine.” 

“Um… Mr. Oikawa! Where did you play volleyball?” 

Oikawa blinked, cocked his head to the side. “I played at Aoba-Johsai - against Tob- Kageyama. Then I played in college too, and a little bit with a professional team.” 

Their eyes brightened, eager, but before they could shoot off more questions, Kageyama stepped forward, waving his hands in front of them. “Alright guys, you have plenty of time to ask questions later. For now, we need to start stretching. Start with two laps around the gym, okay?” 

There were a few groans, but soon enough the kids had taken off, the slap of their sneakers and their loud voices filling the gym. Oikawa and Kageyama watched them go, twisting to follow their progress, eyes on the stragglers, the ones at the head of the pack. After the jog, the kids gathered up in a circle to stretch, gathered around him, and he stood in the middle, guiding them through the stretches they knew before he tugged Oikawa into the circle, gave him a nudge. 

“Oikawa knows a lot of exercises I don’t, ones that are good for specific muscles. You know why we stretch well?” 

“So we don’t injure ourselves!” the kids chorused back. 

“Good. Now listen to Oikawa, alright?” 

“Okay!” 

Oikawa shot him a grin as he took over the centerstage, showed the kids a few more, and then he ushered them off to get a drink of water. They settled beside each other once more, shoulders brushing, far too close for the good of Kageyama’s rapid heart. “Not bad, Tobio-chan. You’ve learned how to work with people quite well.” 

He glared at Oikawa, swatted his thigh. “Of course I have. I’m not that high schooler you used to…” 

“Date. That I used to date.” Oikawa gave him a strange stare, indecipherable, one that Kageyama wasn’t sure he wanted to pick apart regardless. “You’re right. You’re nothing like that anymore.” He left Kageyama like that, jogged off to get a drink of his own. Kageyama simply stood there, helpless, uncertain, before he sighed, dragged one hand through his hair, and jogged after Oikawa. 

They didn’t have much of a chance to speak past that - they’d already gone over plans for practice, so it went smoothly without them ending up too close together, without speaking too much. Kageyama wasn’t sure if he was happy with that or not, but he was more than satisfied with how Oikawa was with the kids, ones he’d been nurturing for months, carefully guiding them to the best of his abilities. Oikawa was naturally more of a people person, charismatic, the kind that made the kids open up almost instantly, even the quieter ones who tended to hang back and not talk. And, even after several years, he hadn’t lost his knack for bringing out the best in players. Even if they were at least a decade younger and far less proficient on skills. He was careful, analyzing their form with whatever they’d decided to focus on for the moment, and the kids seemed to adore him. They all clustered around, grinning brightly and ogling him as he went through the motions, slow and careful, demonstrating everything they needed to know. 

The kids were focused, more so than Kageyama had ever seen them, and he could only shake his head and smile faintly to himself as he and Oikawa guided them through their drills, then split them up into groups, half on either side, for a quick practice match. Kageyama took the ones they gave the green jerseys, and Oikawa took the reds, and the greens started off. His team was weaker on the serves, but what they lacked there, they certainly made up for in blocks - well, most of them did anyways. There were gaps in their defenses, but even more on Oikawa’s side, but they still managed to put together a decent fight against one another. 

The green team stayed ahead by a few points consistently - if they’d been officially keeping track anyways. After all, they spent a lot of time stopping the game to pick out flaws and places that they could improve on, and the kids nodded eagerly, more than ready to listen to them both. Not that Kageyama could blame them. With Oikawa’s bright smiles and warm words, he was irresistible to listen to. Even the more belligerent kids were willing to listen to him - though, he had promised to show off his serves if they’d done well. And they were certainly striving to live up to the promise. 

After an hour of scrimmaging, they ended that, and the kids clustered excitedly at the edge of the court, peering at them with excited eyes. Oikawa and Kageyama looked at each other for a second before Oikawa burst into laughter, and they shook their heads. “Well, if we must. Do you all want us to compete against one another?” 

Their eyes widened, saucer-like, and they nodded eagerly. Up in the stands, the family members that had started to gather were grinning, laughing, and Kageyama and Oikawa went to the serve line. “You want to go first?” Kageyama said. 

“As the first coach, I think you should have the honors,” Oikawa purred. 

Kageyama snorted, and he grabbed a ball from the cart. One of the kids popped up and set a plastic water bottle on the other side of the court. Kageyama waited until they were gone, and then he smacked the ball on the ground, took a breath, long and slow. Felt the air rush into his lungs, fill him up and slow his body. The sounds of the court faded away into the background, the chatter of the kids dulling down, the laughter disappearing, everything settling. The weight of the last few weeks faded into the warmth of his muscles, out of focus, and he closed his eyes. So much had happened, and even in practice he wasn’t able to escape it all. 

_ Focus.  _

He raised the ball. Opened his eyes. Bunched his muscles and tossed the ball. From there, it was fluid, familiar. His arm snapped forward, and it drove the ball forward, shot over the net and crashed into the water bottle with a crunch, smacked the floor just beyond, and bounced back and hit the wall beyond it. 

Kageyama turned, found the kids staring at him with wide eyes and open mouths.  _ Oh right, I’ve never actually served in front of them.  _ They all burst into cheers, grinning and clapping, and Kageyama pressed a hand to his chest, right where warmth bloomed beneath his breastbone, and he turned, found Oikawa staring at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. 

“Your turn,” he said softly. 

Oikawa smiled, but it felt off, didn’t really reach his eyes, and Kageyama merely stepped to the side as Oikawa came forward, took a ball for himself. He’d just seen Oikawa serve a little before, but it was still a thing of beauty to watch, to see the slow breaths that made his shoulders steadily rise and fall. To see his face go soft and relax, eyes tight and fixated on the water bottle the kids had set back up. He slammed the ball against the ground, sharp smacks ringing out throughout the gym. And then he tossed the ball, lunged forward. His arm blurred when it snapped forward, collided with the ball, and Kageyama felt his lips split with a grin as the ball smacked the water bottle, sent it flying into the air, the ball right behind it. 

It was even stronger, quicker than Kageyama’s, and the kids were even more blown away - but Kageyama’s eyes narrowed when he saw how Oikawa stood. All his weight had been carefully moved off his right leg, and despite the grin he wore, there was pain visible in the tension in his shoulders, in the slight edge to his grin.  _ Fuck.  _ His brace wasn’t the heavy duty one he’d worn the other night, wasn’t even anything special. Just something that could give him good support during the basics, when they were doing light exercise, nothing too intensive. 

_ He’s hurt.  _

“More!” the kids called. 

“Not tonight,” he said before Oikawa could answer. “It’s time for you all to go home already.” 

The kids protested, but only for a few moments before they sighed, cleaned up the gym, and slouched over to their parents, who hustled them out quickly. All the while, Oikawa didn’t move. He simply stood there until the last of the children and their parents had left, smile flickering away as soon as the door shut. He released a breath, closed his eye, and Kageyama was on him in an instant, hands sliding around his arms as he pressed close. 

“Oikawa, are you okay?” 

“Peachy,” Oikawa gritted out through his teeth. “Just… get me to the bench?” 

Kageyama nodded, and Oikawa slid his arm around Kageyama’s shoulder, leg rising up just enough so that it wouldn’t drag on the ground. Even that made him hiss, but Kageyama managed to painstakingly walk him over to the bench, where Oikawa slumped down with a relieved sigh. “My bag too. Please.” 

Kageyama grabbed it, brought it close, and Oikawa took it with a thin-lipped smile, dug through it. He pulled out a brace, set that beside himself, and then a bottle. He tapped two pills out, popped them in his mouth, swallowed dry. Stared at the brace, before he sighed, let his head droop forward as he held it out to Kageyama. “Can you help me out, Tobio-chan?” 

Kageyama swallowed thickly. Dropped to his knees and took the brace from Oikawa. It was hard to get it onto his leg when every move seemed to make him his and bite his lips in pain. Already, he could see the flesh around Oikawa’s knee swelling, discoloring a little, and he couldn’t choke back the spike of worry, the soft sound that welled up in the back of his throat as he stared at Oikawa’s knee as he carefully worked the brace up his leg. Oikawa clutched the bench so tight his knuckles were white, but they managed to get the brace in place without Oikawa screaming, without anyone being kicked, and Kageyama let his hands fall away, curling around Oikawa’s ankles as he stared up at his friend. 

“What… Oikawa, what happened?” 

Oikawa’s eyes cracked open, brown irises dark with pain. His lips curled up. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” 

“It’s not  _ fine,  _ you idiot. One serve shouldn’t-” 

_ “Shut the fuck up,”  _ Oikawa snarled, face abruptly darkening. 

Kageyama lurched back, landed on his ass. Oikawa’s eyes widened instantly, mouth falling open. Kageyama blinked. Found his arm in front of his face. Heart beating wildly out of control. No breathing. Dry mouth. World spinning.  _ “Shut up and get on the bed.”  _ He swallowed hard. Shoved himself up onto shaky legs, entire body jittering as he twisted his head away, unable to look Oikawa in the eye. 

“I… need to… bathroom - I’ll… be back.” 

His legs felt like jelly, barely attached to his body. He was certain Oikawa said something, heard it, just barely, but the words were indistinct, cloudy in his brain, and he stumbled out of the gym and into the hallway just outside. One hand pressed to the wall, he made his way down the darkened hallways, not quite seeing. Breaths caught on his throat, dragged their way out, rasping like sandpaper on his lungs. Everything was spinning, swimming, and he slumped down, just inside the bathroom, back to the wall. 

Cold. 

So cold. 

Nothing quite felt connected, vague. Even the slow breaths that worked through his chest, made it rise and fall. Didn’t feel like him. Didn’t feel like anything but a cold blankness. He blinked. Stared ahead. Listened to the rush of blood in his head. The whisper of breathing. His head lolled forward. Fell against his knees. Fingers in hair. Cold. So fucking  _ cold. _

_ Safe. You’re safe.  _

But it didn’t feel like it, not with the tightness in his chest, with the way everything felt so  _ off.  _

He closed his eyes. Swallowed hard. Focused on the slow expansion of his ribs, on the cold that seeped in through his back, through his rear. Let it all wash over him as he kept breathing, trying to feel, caught somewhere between his body and beyond for far too long. 

It came slowly. In fingers that found the ability to move, stiff at first. 

Then the breath that rattled in, quicker than the rest, but it reached deeper, made his chest stretch out further. 

His eyes opened. 

The world no longer swam before him, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. He let his head drop back. Kept trying to breathe, nice and calm, until his limbs had all fully returned to him. 

They were weak when he rose, barely cooperative, but he stood up anyways and started to walk, one hand on the wall. It wasn’t long enough, but he managed to compose himself a little more before he stepped back into the gym. Oikawa was still seated at the bench, head in his hands, shoulders hitching. 

_ Fuck.  _

Kageyama walked over as fast as he dared. Oikawa didn’t sob, barely sniffled, but his entire body twitched when Kageyama’s fingers brushed across his shoulders. He straightened up a moment later. Oikawa had always been an ugly crier, beautiful in the mess he allowed himself to become when the floodgates opened, and, even after so long, after so much, it made Kageyama’s heart stutter to see Oikawa so weak, so open, that even he could read him, clear as day. 

Oikawa sniffed quietly, wiped at the snot and tears that covered his blotchy face, and he shook his head. “You should’ve just left,” he whispered, voice cracking more than once. “I’m…” 

“It’s okay,” Kageyama said softly, even though his hands still trembling, his heart still beat a little too fast, the taste of fear lingered on his tongue. “You forgot. It happens. I promise.” 

Oikawa snorted, shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. Just held his arms out, and Kageyama let him lean in, bury his face into his stomach. 

Kageyama’s hands fluttered, unsure of where to go, before they settled into his hair.  _ Soft.  _ Familiar. It had been so long since he’d buried his fingers in Oikawa’s hair, so long since he’d had that chance to be so close to him. To see all those vulnerabilities, the insecurities, the scars. “I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” he said after a moment. 

Oikawa’s shoulders hitched. “You… you really are an idiot, Tobio-chan.” 

“I know,” he said softly. An idiot because he didn’t know what was wrong, because he couldn’t read Oikawa as well as he wanted to, partially because Oikawa had gotten even better about hiding things, partially because he no longer knew his rhythms like he once had. It was unfamiliar, but he knew it all, all at once. It left the world swirling in his head, instability - and yet a sense of peace. Even with everything that had happened - that  _ was  _ happening. His fingers tightened in Oikawa’s hair. He sighed, closed his eyes. “It’s okay, Oikawa. Trust me. I wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t.” 

Oikawa shook his head, pulled away, stared up at Kageyama with tired brown eyes, more exhausted than he’d ever seen them before. There was old pain in them, but still too fresh, sharp and crystal clear. Kageyama bit his tongue. He let his head drop ever so slightly, fingers loosening around Oikawa’s ankles, and he sighed. Raised his hands, trailing them along his legs and up to his hands. It was too intimate, too much, and he could feel a warmth filling his cheeks, a too-heavy flutter in his chest, but he still pushed on, curled his fingers around Oikawa’s wrists instead. He could feel the thrum of Oikawa’s pulse beneath his middle fingers, could feel the way the muscles in his arms twitched, uncertain, before they settled, and they stared at one another. 

“How much pain are you in?” Kageyama said softly. 

Oikawa scowled, glanced away, but his eyes flickered back in an instant. “Enough,” he said after a long moment. 

Kageyama shook his head, reached over to his bag, and pulled out his phone. It was easy enough to arrange for a cab, and then Kageyama threw their things into their bags, tossed them over his shoulder, and held a hand out for Oikawa. His friend stared at it for a long moment before he sighed, took his hand, and let Kageyama pull him up. It was impossible to miss the way his face spasmed with pain, too easy to see, and Kageyama had to bite his cheek to resist saying anything. The dark look in Oikawa’s eyes was enough of a deterrent, especially since he knew how Oikawa could get when he was in pain. 

Kageyama helped him limp to the exit of the gym, and they waited out there, all of Oikawa’s weight off his leg, until the cab rolled up. It was hard, maneuvering Oikawa into it, but he went in, visibly holding back pained sounds. It left Kageyama’s chest clenching, his lips aching as he bit into them over and over before Oikawa was finally in, and then he slid into the other side. Oikawa glanced at him, raised an eyebrow, but Kageyama pointedly ignored him, gave the driver Oikawa’s address. 

As they pulled away from the curb, there was a soft thump that made Kageyama turn. Oikawa had let his head fall back onto the headrest, eyes fixed overhead, blank. His lips were pursed. Too many thoughts were running through his head, easy to see in how his fingers twitched, in the way he resolutely took long, deep breaths. Kageyama reached over. Pressed his fingers against Oikawa’s forearm. 

It took far too long for his head to turn, for his eyes to focus on Kageyama. “What?” he said softly. 

“You okay?” Kageyama whispered. 

Oikawa smiled thinly. “Are any of us okay, Tobio-chan?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “While one person hesitates because he feels inferior, the other is making mistakes and becoming superior” - Link

Another week passed with no word from Oikawa, never mind actually seeing him. It left a weird taste in Kageyama’s mouth, but he pushed through, forced himself through homework, through practices with the team, then ones with the kids. Oikawa didn’t even show up to those, and that left the kids disappointed, begging him to bring Oikawa back, asking if he was okay. Kageyama hadn’t known how to answer them, had played it off the best he could. Had shot Iwaizumi a message later that night, but had gotten nothing but a non-answer that left him just as confused as before.

_What’s wrong with him? Why did his knee give him that much trouble so fast? Is his injury worse? How is he playing with that?_

Kageyama groaned, pressed his face into his hands, and pulled away from his textbook. One he’d barely read or even touched in the last hour. There was too much in his head, too many distracting thoughts whipping through him. All about Oikawa. It was frustrating, and he wanted to rip them out, dash them to the ground, and the painfully familiar feelings in his chest right along with them. But he couldn’t get rid of them, couldn’t part with them, no matter how many times he ran over that last argument, those final words. The hurt. The pain. All the crying and suffering and confusion that had come with it, that had left him so numb and hollow for months. That had left him feeling all alone when his hand had been shattered, leaving him broken, terrified.

_Stop. Just stop. There’s no point._

Because, try as he might, the bad couldn’t outweigh the good. The way Oikawa had held him, then and now. His sweet words, bright laugh. The way he still touched him, even after so long. How hard he had worked to help Kageyama through everything that had happened since they’d found one another again. How much he desperately loved him still despite everything. Kageyama pressed his fingers to his forehead, let the cold in his skin give him something to focus on.

One breath.

Two.

Ten.

At twenty, he managed to pull away.

He didn’t bother to try and focus on his materials, just packed them up, stuffed him into his bag, and pulled out his earbuds. With those in and classical music pouring into his ears, it was easier to focus as he left the library, even with the warmth of the day. Even with the thoughts that threatened to creep in. He tapped his fingers away on the palms of his hands, focused on the crescendos and the shifts in tempo, in majors and minors, on the way the different instruments wove together. Blissful rhythms that carried him along, left him drifting his way across the campus and off, deeper into the city.

His feet moved, aimless, and he walked on, focused on little more than the music. It made it easier to concentrate, to give himself to the steps that carried him onwards to a destination unknown. One that ended in front of a coffee shop, familiar from visits that he and Aiden had made. A good one, despite the memories associated with it. Or, perhaps, because of them, because those were from when things had still been sweet, colored in notes of gold and twisted with a harmony they’d created, seamless, easy. Right until it had started to fall apart. Kageyama bit his tongue.

Pushed his way in.

Froze the second he stepped in.

_This is familiar._

Familiar, because Oikawa was at the counter.

Because Oikawa was smiling, bright, eager, one that didn’t quite match his eyes.

Not so much, because he was holding hands with another man, one who was taller, with darker skin and thicker muscles, who had his back to Kageyama as they waited on their turn at the counter. Kageyama’s chest hitched. Watched as Oikawa leaned up, pressed his lips to the man’s cheek, whispering something so that he could hear before he brushed a kiss there. The man turned slightly, white teeth flashing in a brilliant grin.

Kageyama spun around. Marched out. Strode down the streets. Everything felt cool. Calm. Mostly. There was a strange weight in his chest, curious, and he could barely think past it, the leaden weight threatening to crush his lungs, his heart, everything that lay beneath his skin. One that had swarmed upwards, clogging his throat, filling his mouth with cotton and leaving his eyes with a curious burn. His palms ached. He didn’t bother to look. Just kept moving, not quite breathing right, no longer hearing the music. Disconnected, but not quite.

He stumbled to a stop in front of his door, not entirely sure how he’d ended up there, but he didn’t care. Just let himself in, slammed it shut, pressed his back to it as harsh breaths ripped their way out of his chest. His legs buckled, gave out, and Kageyama slithered down the floor, fingers diving into his hair, tugging harshly.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Of course. Of course he’d moved on, of course he’d found someone else. Oikawa had never mentioned a boyfriend, had never even hinted at one. Perhaps he was new. Perhaps he wasn’t. But it didn’t matter, because Oikawa liked, maybe even _loved_ someone else. Someone who wasn’t him. Someone who was probably better than he’d ever been, ever could be. Someone who wouldn’t make Oikawa hate them, make him disappear for so long, only to reappear at the most unexpected of times and then practically force Oikawa into a new stilted friendship. _I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have kept talking with him. I should have just ignored him. Should have just pretended. I’m so stupid, I’m so fucking stupid, I-_

A noise broke through it all, and Kageyama twitched, jerked his head. Fumbled for his phone, tugged it out. Stared at the text waiting on him.

**From hinata dumbass:  
heeeey the train is super close!! can’t wait to see u again!!!**

Kageyama ran his tongue along his teeth. Jabbed out a reply, and watched as Hinata filled his screen with exclamation points and excited emojis. But he couldn’t feel anything, could barely even register it. He just shoved his phone to the side. Threw his earbuds away from him. Let the stifling silence swallow him as he slumped back against the door. Let his hands fall forward onto his legs, palms up. There were deep grooves carved there, bitten in from his nails. None of them were bleeding, but they were close. But all he could do was stare at them with a vague sense of apathy.

It was far too long before he rose, left everything in the entryway, and staggered back to his room. Papers fluttered around the room. He nearly collapsed onto the floor, pencil in hand, blank music scores surrounding him. His hands moved on their own, writing out notes and rhythms and everything to the beat of his heart.

Piano first, scrawled out messily onto nearly fifteen different sheets, before he shoved those aside, swept another pile forward. From there, it was blankness, the familiar kind from when things had first shattered apart into thousands of pieces. He simply let go, let his hand carry him, let the leaden weight pour itself out, removing its cottony presence from his mouth, unhooking itself from his throat, lifting the crushing weight off his organs until all that remained was the ache of hollowness, the sting of something more he couldn’t quite place. Piles of music lay before him, too many to count. Piano, violin, cello, viola.

He stared at them, blank.

Blinked.

Thumping made him raise his head, blink again. It sounded close. Rhythmic.

There was the sound of music, familiar. _My phone._

He rose, legs stiff, nearly uncooperative, and he staggered out into the living room. Swept his phone from the floor, opened the door. Hinata stood there, staring at his door with wide eyes, confused. They only stretched further, like saucers, and his lips parted, a hesitant question forming. “Ka… Kageyama?”

“What?” he rasped.

Hinata licked his lips. Glanced inside, then back at him. “Are… you okay?”

Kageyama closed his eyes. _“Are any of us okay, Tobio-chan?”_ He sucked down a breath. Shrugged his shoulders and held the door open a little wider. “I’m here,” he said simply. Hinata stepped in, tugged the door from his grasp and shut it, and then he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Kageyama. He’d grown in the last few years, enough that his head sat beneath Kageyama’s chin. His body was warm, and Kageyama couldn’t help but slump into it, hands trembling as he curled them into Hinata’s shirt. “I’m… I’m such an idiot,” he whispered, voice cracking far too often.

Hinata squeezed him tighter. “No, you’re not,” he said softly, “You’re just… dense. But you’re not an idiot.”

“I _am_.”

The words were nearly a wail, left him reeling as he clutched Hinata tighter, let his head slip down to press into his shoulder. Like that, it was easier to hide the tears - the sight of them anyways. Not the way his body shook with silent sobs, or the dampness that stained Hinata’s shirt. “I-I’m such a fucking idiot, I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have _waited,_ but I’m s-such an idiot for even feeling anything again, and- and- and…” The words tapered off, and Kageyama sucked down a breath, bit his tongue. Hinata’s arms wrapped tighter around him, secure, and that only made even more tears well up, hot and thick in his eyes. Kageyama swallowed, shook his head. “I just…”

“Is it the Grand King?”

Kageyama’s body hitched. He nodded. Turned his face into Hinata’s neck as his fingers loosened. It took a long while to pull away, to be able to face Hinata with his grief. But Hinata didn’t say anything. He only took Kageyama by the hand and gently guided him towards the couch, pressed him down into it. Wrapped blankets around him, tucked him in tight there, and then he put on a movie, a title Kageyama didn’t recognize.

Hinata settled on the couch, tugged Kageyama in, and he could only fall into his friend’s chest, Hinata’s limbs wrapped tight around him, inescapable. One hand settled in his hair, began to stroke it softly. Kageyama’s eyes fluttered shut. A breath rattled out. The music began, soft, but Kageyama paid no mind to it as his fingers curled against Hinata’s thigh. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hinata said, soft but stern, and he flicked the back of Kageyama’s head. “You’ve been dealing with a lot! You can’t make it all go away that easily!”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him again, or-” _Or ever fallen in love with him in the first place. Should have just stayed enemies, kept that weird sort of friendship we had, should never have crossed the line because it’s only brought regret, so much fucking regret, and I’m such a fucking failure and-_

“Bakayama.” He froze, twisted, and found Hinata staring at him, golden eyes intense. Hinata popped Kageyama’s cheeks gently, hands cupping them upside down, and he smiled softly. “You can’t help who you fall in love with, or even how long you love them.”

“But-”

“No buts! Just because things didn’t work out then, doesn’t mean they won’t work out now!”

“Hinata, he’s seeing _another guy,_ I doubt…” _I doubt he loves me. He’s moved on. He doesn’t care. He probably hates me, has probably hated me this entire time. I was wasting my time trying to get him back in my life, and all the while, he’s just… probably not even given a shit._

Hinata’s face filled his vision, made him jerk, but the tight grip of Hinata’s limbs kept Kageyama where he was on the couch, staring up at him. “You’re not stupid,” he murmured, “You haven’t wasted your time. You’ve been hurting and missing him for so long - and even _I_ could tell he had too when we were moving you out. I think he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Kageyama snorted, knocked Hinata’s hands away, and turned on his side, back to the TV. “Whatever,” he grunted. Whatever, because his words weren’t enough. Couldn’t heal the new hole that had been torn into his heart, that left him aching to double over, to curl up on the ground, surrounded by music sheets once more.

Hinata didn’t say anything, didn’t move for a painfully long time - and then his fingers settled back into Kageyama’s hair, gently petting as he hummed along to the music. No more words passed between them. Only the movie’s dialogue and music and the sound effects broke the silence. And even then, it was far too heavy, too much. But he could only bear with it, eyes shut tight, the ache heavy in his chest. So heavy that he nearly didn’t realize that Hinata’s breathing had evened out until total silence fell in the apartment, the movie long since having finished.

He carefully peeled himself away, shed the layers of blankets and carefully dumped them on top of Hinata, who smacked his lips and rolled, clutching them closer and tighter. Kageyama stared at him for a long moment before he turned, grabbed his phone from the coffee table. Notifications greeted him - a few texts in the mix.

Ones that made his heart clench, even as he opened them.

**From Oikawa:  
Hey sorry I’ve been away, had to get my knee checked out!  
Doc said I gotta take it easy, but I’ll be back in a week ** **ᕙ** **( * •̀** **ᗜ** **•́ * )** **ᕗ**

**From Oikawa:  
And I had a date with the nurse who was there (** **✿** **´** **꒳** **` ) super cute**

**From Oikawa:  
Has Tobio-chan asked anyone out?**

**To Oikawa:  
Get better soon**

He set his phone on the counter, strode into the bathroom. The water was freezing, just what he needed as he practically stuck his head beneath the faucet, staring blankly at the white beneath him, chills racing down his spine, water swirling down the drain. He shuddered. Closed his eyes. Took a long, slow breath. _Stupid. So fucking stupid. You just need to forget about him._ Forget about all those feelings he’d clearly _never_ moved past. Wasn’t sure if he ever could.

 _Of all the fucking people to run into._ It had to have been Oikawa. Had to have been the man he’d fallen so desperately, hopelessly in love with, the only one who’d actually made him feel _normal_ at more than just a basic level. One who accepted all the features and facets that no one else saw, all the flaws and ticks he buried beneath volleyball and frantic attempts to pass his classes.

Kageyama bit his tongue. Stood up, turned the water off. Faced the mirror. Water trickled down his face, his neck, dampened his shirt. He looked like shit, bags beneath his eyes, bloodshot, glazed. He snorted. Shook his head and grabbed a towel, ruffled his hair for a minute before he tossed it aside, strode back out. Saw his phone, screen lighting up with a familiar icon.

Oikawa was calling.

Kageyama’s throat seized, and he stared at the phone, eyes wide. _What do I do?_ The thought of answering made his stomach turn - but, at the same time, he wasn’t sure if it was a time when Oikawa would call and call and _call_ until he picked up, until he said whatever he wanted to say. Kageyama glanced to Hinata, still curled up on the couch, out cold. Grabbed his phone, strode back into the bedroom, and pressed his back to the door. Accepted the call.

“What?” he huffed.

 _“Tobio-chan, you sound so cold! What’s up with you?”_ There was a cheeriness to Oikawa’s voice that made his mouth dry up. The kind of bright, bubbly happiness that was too sugary to be real, saccharine-sweet, disgusting to hear. A discordant note that didn’t belong, could never belong.

“What the fuck is up with you?” he said instead, regret chasing that an instant later, filling the silence that followed his idiotic words with a heaviness that made it hard to breathe, a suffocating weight settling onto his chest. “Oikawa, I-”

 _“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize something had crawled up your ass and died,”_ Oikawa bit out, voice sharp, _“I just wanted to ask if you were okay since you sounded more bland than usual, but fuck forbid I actually give a shit about my sweet little Tobio-chan, huh?”_

“That’s not what I meant-”

_“Yeah, it’s never what you meant. You speak first, think later. Even after so long. God, look, I don’t want to deal with this right now, I-”_

“Tooru, _listen_ to me!” He froze, blood an icy slush in his veins as he stared forward. His heart was beating too fast, out of control, but he could only press his trembling fingers there, feel it hammering away against his ribs, lungs not quite cooperating. _I fucked up, I fucked up so much. I can’t do anything right. It’s just a repeat of the breakup. God, he’ll hate me even more. I’m such a fucking idiot._ “That’s… I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said weakly. “I just… I was worried. You’ve… you haven’t talked to me since the practice, and all I knew is that you were injured, and-”

 _And I saw you with that guy. I saw you with him, and I wanted to cry, to vomit, to throw something, because I want that to be_ me.

Kageyama raked his fingers through his hair, shook his head as he leaned forward, let his knees slowly give away so he could slide to the floor, bury his face into his knees with a shaky breath. “Look…” he said softly, “I just… it felt like back then.”

Tense silence followed, so thick, so heavy, that he almost couldn’t breathe as he stared blankly at his legs, teeth buried in his tongue.

_“Seriously? Tobio-chan, I have my own fucking life, and you do too. A week won’t fucking kill either of us you know, so grow up.”_

His head snapped up, eyes burning as he bared his teeth. “I _have_ grown up - I’ve done so fucking much since you _left me,_ and it feels like you’re just fucking ignoring all of that and treating me like a child, you asshole! I’m not the stupid little middle schooler you hated, I’m not some pain-in-the-ass high schooler you could tolerate, I’m not the person you dumped because you thought we couldn’t _‘handle it’_ \- so why don’t you look and fucking see it, Oikawa?”

Oikawa snorted - memories came with it. Rolled eyes. A shake of a head. Messy hair, distressed from being pulled so much. _“Good for you, Tobio-chan,”_ he spat, _“Maybe you’re better off without me. Everyone usually is.”_

Kageyama’s mouth dropped, but the line clicked before he could choke out anything, before he could protest. And all he could do was stare at the floor, unblinking. Barely feeling the door rattle behind him as Hinata knocked, voice carrying, but his words not making any sense.

_He does hate me._

Not that Kageyama could blame him for that - he was an asshole, always had been. Could never tell what other people were thinking consistently enough for it to matter, even if he’d known them for years, learned them in such an intimate way that no one else was allowed to see. Couldn’t be enough, could never be enough. He was always a dozen steps behind, trailing after someone who blotted out the sun, wrapped its light around him like a halo and wore it like a king, a crown even bigger and grander than the one he’d once wore.

Kageyama leaned forward. Let his hand slip from his fingers as his face settled between his knees, eyes burning, tears welling up. They slipped down his cheeks, dripped onto his legs, stained the world around him with heated misery as he shrank in on himself, body trembling, fingers digging harshly into his arms, his scalp, tearing at his skin. _Stupid. Terrible. Horrible. Useless._ Because he couldn’t move on. Couldn’t do better. Could never, _ever_ be enough.

Not for Aiden.

Not for Oikawa.

It was a long time before he opened the door, slumped into Hinata, and let his friend hold him close, arms wrapped tight around him as he guided Kageyama to his bed, laid him down, settled him there beneath heaps of blankets. Hinata didn’t talk. Kageyama wasn’t sure how he felt about it, what it meant. Just that there was a hollow ache in his chest, one that chased after him as he crashed into unconsciousness.

 


	6. Chapter 6

From there, the days melted into one another, a senseless blur that left Kageyama spinning as he drifted through it all, the weeks creeping by with agonizing slowness. It was enough that more than one of his professors pulled him to the side, spoke to him with painfully soft voices, carefully prying, offering extensions, letting him know that he wasn’t alone. 

And he knew that - Hinata was incessant, constantly texting him throughout the days, spamming Kageyama with pictures of his cat, Hina, of things he found cool, and so much more. He wasn’t the only one either. Sugawara, who messaged him rather sporadically, had started to text and email more frequently too - had called him on more than one occasion as well. His soft voice, so warm and bright in the quiet, had been welcome when it had come despite everything. Kageyama couldn’t find the energy to care that Hinata had mentioned it - he and Sugawara were seeing each other after all, it was only natural. 

But it was still irritating to have them hovering over him, to constantly be pestered and have them practically shoving themselves into his life. Nice, but frustrating. 

It was too much effort to try and sound invested in whatever they spoke to him about, too much effort to even try to respond or answer the phone sometimes. But they still persisted, messaging him, calling, insisting he had no need to talk, that they just wanted to chat. 

_ I just want to disappear.  _

Wanted to melt away into the cushions of his couch and become one with it, never have to move or think. It would be so much easier to simply become an inanimate object. He’d spent too long there already, had moved to the cold floor when that hadn’t been enough. Easier to leave again. To pack his bags and find another school, somewhere far, far away - on the South side of Japan, on one of the islands, in a different country completely. America was a viable option - it was huge, and he spoke English decently enough that he wouldn’t be  _ totally  _ lost. 

Well, somewhat. 

Kageyama shook his head, draped an arm over his eyes with a shaky breath.  _ Why do shitty things happen all together?  _ Sure, over the course of a few months, over a year really, but everything had seemed to culminate, to slap him back to the ground every single fucking time he managed to get his feet back under him. 

Everything had been smooth sailing until Aiden had walked into his life. He’d been making it through, surviving, going through life and finding the willpower to move on, to get past Oikawa and adapt, grow, become something post-Oikawa. 

And then Aiden had waltzed in. Had treated him like he was worth the entire world, only to crush him into the dust, leave him trembling in the dirt, barely able to function, to get past the gnawing, crushing guilt and self-hatred that ate away at him, leaving him a hollow husk unsure of what to do. 

And now this. 

Oikawa hated him again. Maybe for good.  _ I don’t know what to do.  _ Hinata had told him he was better off, that, without Oikawa, he could really move on, could be that much better. But the protests that had bubbled to his lips to meet that had been too much, had left Kageyama shaking. 

_ How do you move on from someone you love so much that it feels like your heart’s been ripped out when they’re in pain? That you feel like your chest is caving in when they hate you? When you’ve loved them so fucking much for so fucking long?  _

Ever since he’d met Oikawa, he’d been stolen, hopelessly, helplessly in love with him with every fiber of his being - even if he hadn’t realized it soon enough. Enraptured by those genuine smiles, rare and brilliant and so breathtaking that he’d thought something was wrong with him at first. Or those eyes, so intense whenever he was zeroed in on a match, sharp brown irises analyzing, watching, interpreting with every second that slipped past. His hands, so big, strong, had fit into his so well and left Kageyama with a heart tripping a little too fast and a pleasant tug in his stomach. 

And it made things that much harder. 

Kageyama drew in a slow, shaky breath and closed his eyes. Kept breathing until the painful twinges in his chest subsided enough that he could blink, sit up, and press a hand there, massaging gently, lethargically at the skin and bone.  _ At least we don’t have practice tomorrow.  _ It was one saving grace, one that meant he could take the time, breathe, try to recollect himself with all of his homework out of the way, with nothing but a full day of moping and music before him. 

The instruments were calling to him, the music sheets whispering his name, and he let his hand fall, trail across the ones scattered all about him, carefully numbered, covered in notes and measures and others, smudges where he’d erased, remarked, erased once more until something akin to perfection had flowed across the page. Not quite, but enough that he could look at it, satisfied, and not shred it all like the countless pages already in his waste basket. 

Kageyama rose onto weak legs - the panic attack from before had left his entire body not quite connected to his mind, but he forced himself to move, picking his way through the clutter of music sheets and erasers and pencils until he reached his keyboard. He glanced at the clock. It was early enough that he could play for a while without the neighbors bitching too much. 

He carefully pulled it out, set it on his bed, and plugged it in. Pulled it into his lap. Closed his eyes and took a breath. Songs shuffled through his head, the classics, the more modern ones, slower tunes, quicker tunes - original tunes. Ones that were painfully familiar. Ones that he’d written for the one who left him softly grieving in the dark silence of his apartment, stagnant because he, unlike Oikawa, couldn’t seem to move forward, couldn’t bear to take that one step, one he couldn’t even find. Kageyama smiled, thin and wry, and shook his head. 

_ Of course. How fucking fitting.  _

But his fingers still found their way to the keys, and he rolled his shoulders, let them fall, loose, and took one breath. 

Two. 

Felt it rush in, fill his lungs, cool and crisp, and he let it linger there for just a hair too long, just until his lungs started to ache, and he let it whisper out, curling off his lips, puffing out into the space before him. 

His fingers moved. 

The tune was harsh - not the song he’d first written for Oikawa, but a newer one, one that he’d poured his pain and heartache into, all that love he’d bottled up for so long after having it crushed under two pairs of feet. It felt strange on his fingers, brought a tug into his chest, and he let it go, pushed that feeling down into his fingers, let it flow out with every note that flowed from him, spinning through the air, colliding into a melody that spun a tale in the air - not particularly obvious, but there nonetheless. 

The soft, harsh sounds, like quick sobs in the darkness. High, quavering notes, the tremor of a heart, the splatter of tears. Single notes that hung in the air - final words, or ones left unsaid. There had been far too many of those. And then the pauses. The silence that had hung there, so painfully, agonizingly long. The longing in the slow, drawn out notes that sang on and on and  _ on  _ until they faded out, only for more to crash in on their ends, throwing so much more into it. 

Kageyama’s eyes were screwed tight, head bowed over the keyboard, and he let his body shift in time to the tune, fingers flying across the keys, stumbling at some parts, ones less familiar, but catching up just as quickly, never stopping despite the falters. And it left a sort of breathless relief in him when the music faded out, when he sat back and stared blankly ahead, dizzy, fingers aching, chest shockingly hollow. There was little left in there, everything dumped out into the echoes of music that still hung in the air, rang in his ears. 

Kageyama blinked. Licked his lips. Glanced to the side, down at the music sheets on the floor.  _ I should make some adjustments.  _

But he didn’t push the keyboard aside, didn’t uncurl his legs and rise. Instead, he stayed seated, pressed his fingertips back to the keys. Pressed the first opening note.  _ It needs something else.  _ Just like the others did. An accompanying instrument, or even a voice - something to compliment them. Something to tell the other side of the story. 

_ I don’t know enough about that.  _

Just knew the love that had suddenly been ripped out from under their feet. The relief and desire when they’d come back together once more. The things on the surface, the things that he could easily identify, not the more minute details hidden beneath finesse and an inability to read others well enough. Even ones that he’d so eagerly learned so much about, drinking in every piece that he could. 

He smiled weakly, shook his head, and tapped another note.  _ Maybe the violin? A cello would sound good too. Something with strings. Or a guitar. Oikawa isn’t much of a support instrument - he’s not subtle. He’s strong, bright, noticeable. Everyone looks at him when he walks in a room. And they should.  _

Oikawa was a star, and he outshone Kageyama time and time again - blinded Kageyama with his beauty, his grace, the light hidden so deep inside beneath the darkness the world had stained him with. And it was beautiful, breathtaking. Too much for him to fathom sometimes. 

Kageyama licked his lips. Bit his tongue and pressed his fingers back to his chest. Took a breath, tried to dispel the fresh ache that had appeared. He shook his head, a little harder than necessary, and cracked his fingers. Pressed them back to the keys and drew in a slow, deep breath. Cracked his eyes open. 

Perhaps the irony about it all was that, instead of trying to focus on things other than Oikawa, his mind seemed to be filled solely with the man, chasing itself around in circles, dredging up old memories and new. Ones of vibrant smiles that had coaxed ones of his own to life, curling his lips up until his cheeks ached, even pulling out laughter so loud and rich that it had made his sides ache. The light in his eyes when they worked together, spiking, tossing, serving, and receiving together. The puff of breaths, words panted out between them, as they jogged together in the morning, steam spilling off their lips and into the frigid winter air. Oikawa hanging over his shoulder, body warm, lips soft as he kissed Kageyama’s neck, watched him slowly place notes along the music sheets. 

A melody just for Oikawa. 

He smiled. Pulled his fingers away from the keys once more and pressed them to his eyes. They were damp, too damp, and he swallowed hard, licked his lips.  _ This is stupid. You need to stop this.  _ But it was hard, because he ached for Oikawa, found him in every little thing, in too much to be healthy. And, God, had he tried to move on before. Tried so hard, only to fail miserably again and again before he’d simply buried them, hoping that abandoning them would leave them alone.  _ And yet.  _

Kageyama sniffled quietly, wiped at his nose, tears smearing across his cheeks, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, tipped his head back, a weak smile tugging at his lips.  _ I didn’t mean for this. I didn’t mean to fall even more in love with him. I didn’t want this. I wanted to forget, wanted to move on.  _

But the universe had a funny way of saying “fuck you”, and his heart had an even better way, always, endlessly bringing him back to the one man he’d truly loved, cared for, pursed with more than just an apathetic interest and a half-hearted agreement because other people had held affection that he hadn’t wanted to shun, not without a chance at least.  _ Stupid. You tried, you should have just given up.  _ But giving up wasn’t in his nature, wasn’t in  _ Oikawa’s _ . And, even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have mattered. Certainly hadn’t as far as he could tell. 

Kageyama coughed, bit his tongue, and let his head drop back down. He tugged the collar of his shirt up, wiped away his tears and held there until they dried away, left him sitting there, hunched over and barely breathing. 

_ I just want to go back, want to stop that fight from ever happening.  _

Because, maybe, if he could have prevented that then nothing in the years that had slipped past would have happened. They wouldn’t have lost contact. He wouldn’t have had his hand shattered, would have been somewhere else focusing on something -  _ someone  _ else. Would never have transferred, let alone met Aiden, and gone down the veritable rabbit hole into a relationship doomed from the very start. 

Kageyama sucked down a breath, slapped his cheeks hard enough for the smack to resound throughout the room, for his cheeks to sting and go numb almost instantly.  _ Stop that. It’s over and done. There’s no changing that. Just move on. Get past it. Shit happens. And now it’s over.  _

Kageyama set his keyboard aside and slid off his bed, strode out of the bedroom. His chest had a new ache, even more fierce than before, and he kept steady fingers pressed to his breastbone as he rummaged through the cupboards, filled his kettle for water, and set it to boil. He leaned against the counter, stared out the window at the city. It had started to settle down, lights flicking on as the sun ducked below the horizon, painting the city with a thousand different shades of orange and yellow and purple. Ones he was sure Oikawa could name, replicate perfectly, photograph with such clarity and such a sharp eye that it would take anyone’s breath away.  _ He always had a knack for that.  _ One that, even now, still blew Kageyama’s breath away. 

He blinked, refocused on the plant in the windowsill. A succulent, a simple one with dark green shoots that tapered into tips with white bumps all along them. A gift from Hinata, a pair to the succulent that sat on the other side of the windowsill, a pale green tipped in soft pinks that Oikawa had gotten him as a housewarming gift, something that had been a slight attempt to make the apartment feel more comfortable, the parting easier. To give him something to focus on taking care of. 

Kageyama clicked his tongue.  _ Assholes.  _ But he still filled a small glass with water and carefully watered the succulents, then turned for his kettle. 

Knocks broke the silence and Kageyama froze, eyes fixed on the door. They were quiet, stilted. Familiar almost with the cadence they still tried to form. 

_ No.  _

But he found himself moving, hands fluttering by his sides, uncertain, as he put his hand on the knob. Turned it and cracked the door open. Stared forward, numb, eyes wide. 

Oikawa smiled faintly at him, one tired eye blinking, tears glistening on his eyelashes, on the puffy red skin around it. His other eye was completely swollen shut, bruises already blooming in the tender skin around it, stretching down to his cheek, across his nose, the underside of which was caked in blood. More blood stained his light blue shirt, practically covering the collar and a few centimeters beyond - he’d tried to stop the flow with it. 

“Hey, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa whispered thickly, “Don’t I look pretty?” 

It took everything he had to not throw himself forwards into Oikawa’s arms, to not bite through his tongue as one trembling hand rose, Oikawa’s brown eye tracking it as it rose, slow, cautious, and brushed across the skin of his cheek. 

Oikawa flinched back, a quiet sound bubbling up in the back of his throat, before an even weaker smile appeared. “Looks worse than it is?” he managed after a moment, an attempt at humor. 

Kageyama merely shook his head, let his hand slip down, curl into Oikawa’s, and he tugged him in, heart tripping a little too hard, a little too fast, thoughts spinning through his head.  _ What happened? Who hurt him? I’ll fucking kill them, I’ll-  _

“Tobio-chan?” Oikawa’s tiny, fragile voice sliced through the haze. 

Kageyama blinked, found Oikawa staring at him, fear glittering in his eye, one hand twitching along the hem of his shirt. “Go… go sit down. I’ll get some ice. Do you want tea?” 

Oikawa huffed out a breathy puff of laughter. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, life has been a hot mess. Thanks for sticking with it and reading. Check out my tumblr (fairylights101writes) for updates on content and to know what I'm working on. Next chapter hopefully coming soon (esp since these have been finished for months).
> 
> Don't ask for updates. Just comment what you liked.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and hit me up at [tumblr](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/) and follow this with the tag _#fic: the rhythm of you_


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